The market district looks… whole again.

  That is the first thing I notice as I stand near the rebuilt fountain, hands tucked into my jacket pockets, eyes tracing the familiar stretch of stalls and hanging lights. No scorch marks. No collapsed awnings. No warped metal half-melted into the pavement. Just polished stone, fresh wood, and the soft hum of people living their lives like the world never tore itself open here a few weeks ago.

  But I remember.

  I remember the screams.

  The panic.

  The sound of stone cracking under something that should not exist.

  I inhale slowly, counting my breaths like Ariel taught me. Four in. Hold. Four out. The tension in my shoulders eases a fraction.

  You are safe. Right now, you are safe.

  I check my phone.

  3:17 PM.

  She is late.

  Not that I mind. Kristine is always either exactly on time or ten minutes late with zero in-between. Still, my thumb hovers over the screen, tempted to send a message, when a voice cuts through the crowd.

  “Rei!”

  I look up.

  Kristine waves both arms over her head as she weaves through people, nearly colliding with a man carrying a crate of fruit. Long black hair pulled into a ponytail sways behind her, catching the light. Her blue eyes find mine instantly, bright and unmistakable behind her round glasses.

  She is wearing that vintage-inspired outfit again. Cream blouse with puffed sleeves tucked neatly into a muted blue-gray skirt, the fabric patterned today with soft plaid lines. A wide beige corset belt cinches her waist, rose-gold accents glinting when she moves. A pale blush ribbon ties off the end of her ponytail, bouncing as she jogs the last few steps toward me.

  She stops a little too close.

  “Sorry, sorry,” she says, breathless, smiling anyway. “The tram was late. And then I saw this dog. And then I realized I forgot my wallet. And then I didn’t forget my wallet.”

  I snort before I can stop myself. “I figured it was something like that.”

  She grins wider. “You waited though.”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “I said I would.”

  Something flickers across her expression at that. Soft. Almost shy. She adjusts her glasses and looks around, hands clasped behind her back.

  “So,” she says, rocking slightly on her heels. “You ready?”

  I nod. “Thanks again. For helping me pick something out.”

  “Of course,” she says immediately. “I wanted to hang out anyway.”

  There is a brief, dangerous pause where my brain tries to overthink that sentence. I crush it before it can spiral.

  “Unofficial date,” I mutter.

  She hears me.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  She squints, suspicious, but lets it go as she turns toward the stalls. “Come on. Let’s find your mom something nice.”

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  We walk.

  The market feels warmer now that I am moving, surrounded by voices and color and the smell of food. Steam curls from vendor carts. Wind chimes clink overhead. Music hums faintly from somewhere deeper in the district.

  Kristine drifts from stall to stall, fingers brushing fabrics, eyes lighting up at handmade trinkets. I trail half a step behind her, watching the way she leans closer to displays when something catches her attention.

  “So,” she says casually, peering at a stand selling carved wooden charms. “What does your mom like?”

  “She is… practical,” I answer. “But sentimental.”

  Kristine nods seriously. “Ah. The most dangerous combination.”

  I huff out a laugh. “She pretends she does not care, but she keeps everything.”

  “Noted,” Kristine says. “No useless junk.”

  “I resent that,” says a vendor nearby.

  She laughs and apologizes, dragging me away before I can respond.

  We browse for a while, nothing quite right. Jewelry that feels too flashy. Scarves that feel impersonal. Tea sets that remind me too much of things my dad used to buy.

  Then I stop at a stall without realizing it.

  Kristine keeps walking before noticing I am no longer beside her.

  “Rei?” she calls.

  I am staring at a display of pressed flowers encased in glass. My reflection stares back faintly. Jasmine. White petals, delicate and simple.

  My chest tightens.

  “Hey,” Kristine says softly, coming back to my side. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Just… memories.”

  She studies the display, then looks at me with a small, thoughtful smile. “We could get her flowers.”

  “I was thinking that,” I admit.

  Before I can say more, Kristine gasps.

  “Wait. Hold on.”

  She darts off again, returning seconds later holding a plush cat with round button eyes and stubby paws.

  “What about this?” she says, holding it out proudly.

  I blink. “For my mom?”

  She hesitates. Just a second too long.

  “…Yes?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Really.”

  Her face turns pink instantly. “I mean. She likes cats. Probably. And it is cute. And it could sit on a couch. Or a shelf. Or. Or mine.”

  “Ah,” I say. “There it is.”

  She sputters. “That is not what I meant.”

  “You are buying it anyway, aren’t you.”

  “…Yes.”

  I laugh as she pays for it, hugging the plush to her chest like it might escape.

  We walk deeper into the district until we find it.

  The flower shop looks like it should not exist anymore. Old wooden sign. Fogged windows. A bell that jingles when the door opens.

  Inside, the air smells like earth and sweetness. An elderly woman looks up from behind the counter, eyes sharp and amused.

  “Well,” she says. “What a lovely couple.”

  My face heats instantly. “It is for my mom.”

  She laughs, waving a hand. “I am teasing, dear. What flowers?”

  I list them quietly. Roses. Lilies. And jasmine.

  Her smile softens at that. “Good choices.”

  She works quickly, hands steady, weaving stems together with practiced ease. When she finishes, she holds the bouquet out to me.

  “Are you sure you do not want one for the girl?” she asks, eyes twinkling.

  I nearly choke.

  Kristine laughs, covering her mouth.

  “I am sure,” I manage.

  We leave with the bouquet and the plush and an unspoken warmth between us.

  The café is her idea.

  Neko’s Cat Café still smells like coffee and fur and home. The staff greet us like family. The cats recognize us instantly.

  Mr. Fluffykins launches himself into Kristine’s lap with a satisfied grunt.

  “Traitor,” I mutter as another cat hops onto my shoulder.

  We talk. About everything. About nothing.

  She tells me about the memorial. About classmates moving on. About losses that still ache.

  I tell her about the mountains. About training. About the upcoming operation.

  The sun sets outside the windows.

  Eventually, we leave.

  At my door, I stop her.

  “I got you something.”

  Her eyes widen. “What.”

  I hold out the small box. Inside, lotus earrings.

  She stares. Then smiles so brightly it hurts.

  “We are matching,” she says, touching her ears. “I love them.”

  Something in my chest loosens.

  Then it tightens again.

  A feeling. Wrong.

  I turn.

  A hand reaches.

  I move.

  Kristine is pulled behind me as metal flashes. I block it barely, the impact rattling my arm.

  The man smiles, gold teeth glinting.

  “Not bad kid, but you better watch your girl,” he says.

  Another presence. Evelyn. Kristine goes limp.

  A rift opens.

  Pain explodes.

  I stumble.

  “Target acquired,” Evelyn says calmly.

  The portal closes.

  Kristine is gone.

  And I am left standing alone.

  [End of chapter]